


Where Are You (We Are Here)

by NotASmoothOperator



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood and Violence, Camping, Haunting, Hiking, Homeless Wade Wilson, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nature, On the Run, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soul-Searching, Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempt, haunted forest, heartmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASmoothOperator/pseuds/NotASmoothOperator
Summary: Peter Parker is an adult. Which means if he decides to pack a backpack, sell his apartment, and buy a one-way Greyhound ticket from New York to Oregon-he's not "running away," he's just on a journey to find himself again.Wade Wilson is former Special Ops. Which means if he decides to live off the land, seclude himself in the woods, and use the backpack of money from his former occupation on liquor-he's not "homeless," he's just had enough of mankind to last him a lifetime.Both men are destined to meet, whether it's by forces of evil or good is uncertain.But what becomes of them will be determined by the actions of both men.





	1. Prologue: Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Short prologue to encourage me to continue writing-updates should come soon. :)

Dim brown eyes, hooded over with fatigue, scanned the Greyhound station his bus had pulled into after three days of traveling. Pale fingers shook life into short and matted chestnut hair, while nimble shoulders rolled out kinks from sitting for so long. The blur of leaving the bus to calling a taxi to leaving in the taxi was disorienting after the long rest of three days. The taxi driver was curt but was polite enough to refrain from making a remark to the odor the unchanged clothes most-likely held onto. Bright greens faded to grey in the window over the duration of the drive, and it did nothing to help the heavy eyelids of the passenger. The fight between lethargy and alertness seemed to be hopeless until the taxi driver pulled up next to a wood sign with the words Eagle Cap Chalets painted on it. Hands quickly unzipped the black backpack to pay for the taxi service and scurried out the door of the car.  


_WHO?_

25 year old Peter Parker scrunched his nose, his black chucks covered in mud as soon as he climbed out of the rust bucket. The wind bit at his skin as he took in his surroundings. Trees as far as the eye could see, pale blue mountains in the distance. 

He jumped as the taxi took off next to him. 

_ARE?_

Peter took a deep breath of the fresh air, willing it to take away the numbness from his head. Too bad every breath he took still felt forced. The new scenery is what Peter assumed he needed, but instead a creeping sense of foreboding ran up his spine. He just wanted to live again. 

Maybe that was the trade off though, a life for a life. Gwen's dead, so he might as well be too. 

His feet remained planted, his check-in time was bound to have already passed, but even the thought couldn't make his heart beat faster than the heavy and slow pumps he was accustomed to after Gwen's passing. 

"Fuck..." His hoarse voice estranged himself further in his mind. 

_YOU?_


	2. Lost & Longing

" _beep...beep...beep..._ "

The cop patiently, if not awkwardly, waited for the tired man to give up calling an obviously dead phone. 

The former squeezed his eyes shut, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. A shaking hand pulled back stringy, salt and pepper hair.

"I'm... I'm sorry, officer. I just-I don't know how Peter could just leave and any communications just go dead."

"Ah, It's-"

"He's a _good_ kid." The worn man interrupted, voice threatening to break. The young cop shuffled his feet, pausing before responding just in case the man wanted to say anything else.

"... It's fine, Mr. Stark, we'll-"

"It's my fault." Mr. Stark slumped against the marble island top. The cop huffed, stepping closer to Mr. Stark to place his hand on the man's back.

" _Sir_ , unless you sent him somewhere without a phone charger or somewhere without reception, this is not your fault." Mr. Stark brushed off the comforting hand but before he could respond the cop held up a hand to pause the man. "I promise you, we will immediately start looking into the disappearance of Mr. Parker, and should we find any leads-you will be the first to know."

A sleepless Tony Stark stood without the support of the counter top, addressing the cop, whose badge read  _Perry_ , with a crooked smile.

"Thanks, Perry. I'm available all hours so please-"

"Ah, I'm sorry, sir, uh-I must have the wrong tag. My name's Ed Ferris..." Officer  _Ferris_ brushed his hand against his tag, muttering under his breath and shuffling even more now. Tony felt his face twitch.

"O...kay, Officer Ferris. Please feel free to call whenever you get an update, I'll be available all hours."

"I don't doubt that, sir. Uh, I guess I'll be off then to the station unless there's anything else...?"

"Damn, kid," Tony chuckled, rubbing his tired, sunken eyes. "Yeah, you're good to go, thanks." Tony waved the officer out, who promptly took his notebook off the counter and strode quickly to the elevator door.

Tony felt his weight leaning back onto the counter top, sinking into his tired state. Peter hadn't called in two days and upon going to the little punk's apartment, he'd found the place empty save a bed with unmade bedding on it and an old coffee in the kitchen and a couple of fast food receipts crumpled next to a trashcan. He remembers how his heart sunk to the dirty floor, and his breathing become irregular. Crying isn't something Tony Stark of Stark Industries was prone to resorting to, but something in his gut told him exactly what Peter had done and what drove him to it. Self-loathing eroded his once clear head. He should have done more than offering a person to talk to and a paid week off of lab work to grieve. However, Tony was never good with words, especially at a funeral.

Tony spoke into clasped hands, leaning on the counter with his entire weight, " _I'm so sorry, Peter_." 

He'd found the lifeless apartment a day ago. Ever since he'd been at his computer, trying to track his employee. Anything he tried came up short. His worries deepened and he couldn't spend even an hour in bed no matter what his assistant, Pepper urged.

She'd been nothing but hopeful in Peter's safety, " _Peter_ _wouldn't do anything... permanent, you know him, Tony, he's kind of like you in that way. I think he's trying to escape his own thoughts and emotions... Only he's more literal than you._ " She had gestured to his tumbler of scotch with a wry smile on her lips.

Her words and presence had put a band-aid on the darkest fears of his but nothing could keep him from searching for his lost employee in the meantime. Tony wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't. He'd already left the boy alone in his grieving of his fiancé without ever showing up to check in on him or force him to talk to him or anybody or, anything. 

Peter wasn't just an employee, he was a bright kid with a brilliant talent in science, a problem solver with a bleeding heart. Tony had plucked him straight out of a local STEM competition of young minds searching for jobs or endorsement. Peter had not only been a quick hire for Tony and publicity for his company, he was someone who immediately challenged Stark's intelligence and activism. He'd been under Tony's wing ever since.

As sad as it was for Tony to admit it, Peter was one of his only trusted persons as well as a practical son to him. The nights Tony didn't drink were the nights Peter came to him and suggested an idea they just had to start brainstorming for immediately. That and sometimes the kid threw arrogant taunts at him like; "...  _hey Mister Stark, I bet I could kick your ass on the oldest and_ _newest Mortal Kombat games..,"_ or "... _sure, a sentimental man like you would claim that the Yankees are good but a younger and more intuitive_ _person, such as myself knows the Mets are better in many ways..."_

Tony knew that Peter wanted to help him and all of his childish taunts and inane media references were some of the many ways he'd taken Tony out of some of his worse episodes.

But what had he done when Peter needed his help? Nothing.

 

On the other side of the country, Peter lightly tossed his dead phone onto the nightstand in his rented room, body bouncing from the rusted springs of the mattress. A light voice in his head pleaded with him to at least send Mr. Stark a message to let him know he wasn't coming back to work, possibly ever. The lead in his body didn't ease up though, despite his worries. A deeper sadness tore further into him. Staring blankly out of the hotel room's window, Peter tried to figure out what he should do next, but his thoughts went to Gwen's face, her dorky laugh, or her pink fingernails scrapping down his hand before she fell to her death. At her wake, that same hand had been manicured to look the same cotton candy pink she'd loved, the hand with the engagement ring he'd given her a week prior rested above the other hand.

Peter winced at a bang that carried from the hall into his room.

The explosion happened at her parent's building.

Some radicals with a grudges against the wealthy decided to hit the luxurious tower her family lived in along with other elite families of New York.

When the bomb went off, they had been on the landing of her family's floor, Peter had been nervous about telling her parent's about their engagement but Gwen had been all smiles and bouncing off the metal railing in the afternoon breeze. Pointing to their apartment building in the distance and informing Peter they were too close to  _not_ to eat with her parent's every Sunday. Peter had looked down at the streets below him, taking in deep breaths to compose himself before Gwen's father looked him up and down again with narrowed eyes as he usually did. Gwen looped her arm around his. She'd told him that her dad didn't hate him and Peter had erupted into laughter even as Gwen's smug grin at breaking his tension broke out across her face. She tugged his arm, urging him to return to the living room already. Peter had faltered. Instead he looked down again. Police cars racing down the street. Peter pointed this out to Gwen who sighed and released his arm in order to look over the railing with Peter. 

" _What's going on?"_ Gwen's brow creased in worry as four police cars raced down the street only to come to screeching halts around the entrance of the building,  _her_ building. There was shouting and Peter's heart raced. There was a scream and then the building shook violently. Enough to drop the landing they stood on forward with their combined weight. Gwen grabbed onto Peter as the landing shook and loud blasts surrounded their hearing. The first two floors were on fire, glass cracked and shattered and the metal creaked with urgency.

" _Fuck-Gwen! I'm going to toss you to the door-"_

Gwen screamed at him not to, even as her parents ran to the landing's door, throwing open the glass door, urging them to jump back. Gwen turned to scream at them instead now about how bad of an idea that was before a second blast went off that took away the forward supports of the landing. The metal railing Gwen clutched with one hand wrenched her forward, body dragged down to slide down the metal. Peter's reactions had never been quicker. His body hit the metal floor as well, looping a leg around a metal post and with one hand already holding Gwen's, he grabbed the shoulder of the same arm. Peter could hear the screams of Gwen's parents until he couldn't anymore. Gwen's frantic breathing was increasingly louder in his head as her body swayed and dragged her further from his grip. He screamed her name, begged her to climb up his body as her father slid out onto the shaking landing to hold Peter's leg. The third blast shook the building and her bright blue eyes widened, mouth opening in a cry as the force took her from Peter's grip. The landing dropped further and Peter's weight was held up by Gwen's father, who was dragging him back. When the weight he was holding lessened dramatically, he wrenched Peter back in a pained cry. Peter felt his body being pulled back into the building but he fought, dragging his nails as he watched Gwen fall further down to the street. Gwen's father had thrown his behind the door as disregarded weight and throw himself forward as if he could reach his daughter and save her. Gwen's mother was hysterical, clawing her husband's clothing to pull him away from the door, away from death.

Peter's memories muddled into screams and tears and a sob escaped his mouth.

The hotel room was too yellow, like the sun that afternoon.

He felt the bed he sat on shake and Peter's cries became violent, wracking his body.

Nobody would understand how he felt that day and ever since.

He'd thrown his life away because he'd built a life together with Gwen.

Though it was a scrutinized three years to her parent's, Gwen had been his best friend longer than that, for the five years prior to them becoming partners, she had been the only one to push him when he needed to be pushed, the only one to see his tears when his Uncle Ben died, the only one to let him feel at home in a smile. Eight years ago, Peter was alone. Now he was alone again. Who said it was better to have loved and lost rather than never loved at all?

He wanted to punch something.

He wanted to  _destroy_ something.

A silhouette walked towards him on air.

His shaking hands clenched into fists.

His breathing ranged from labored to quick and airy.

His head got lighter.

The shadow talked to Peter but he couldn't hear it.

His body fell to the side.

The shadow lunged forward.

His vision went white

Static pounded his eardrums.

Hours later, the low sun beamed against Peter's face. His eyes scrunched in pain, the pounding in his head worsening with the bright light. Peter turned his head away and felt overwhelming darkness. Slowly his eyes opened. The dark side of the room occupied by the stench of decay and he felt eyes observing his lifeless body. The air around his ears moved as if he was supposed to be hearing something. A grey-faced figure stood in the corner. Dressed in funeral attire, the pitch black eyes bore into Peter. 

"...Am I dead?" Peter croaked softly.

The figure's shoulder's shook in laughter Peter couldn't hear.

Maybe he'd cracked, gone off the deep end, lost his mind in grief.

The figure stood stock still suddenly before pacing around Peter's bed, head never moving as it should when it's body turned. The head faced Peter no matter how the figure turned.

Peter never felt panic, his heart remained heavy. He barely cared if this was death coming to take him away.

The figure stooped lower, crawling on the bed towards Peter.

It's blank face opened into a black hole where the mouth should be, toothless, tongueless, and jawless. Those black eyes turning out to be holes as well. Peter's skin crawled as grey points, it's fingers, crawled up to his throat.

"Stop..." Peter whispered without thinking. The figure lurched back, a series of pops sounded in the room as the figure grew in rigid and jerking motions. As it's presence loomed over Peter in the bed he felt his heart pound in fear. The most alive he'd felt. The claws grew more jagged and they reached for Peter once more.

"Stop..." This time louder and Peter's chest heaved.

The figure loomed forward, continuing up Peter's body.

Finally his body moved, jerking off of the bed and scrambling for purchase on the ground. 

The light from the lamp burst into sparks and glass. 

The figure raced from the bed towards Peter.

Peter ran for the door but claws reached his torso. 

Throwing the door open, blood burst from his chest and stomach as claws sliced.

Peter fell to the hotel hallway gasping, holding his chest.

The figure gone from the room, disappeared into thin air.

Peter would have breathed a sigh of relief but he stood instead and stumbled for the exit.

The panic of the blood putting Peter into overdrive as he tripped out the exit and raced for the road.

He couldn't stop.

He could still feel the figure everywhere around him.

He couldn't stop. 

The road led to shops and people, Peter stumbled behind the lines of wooden buildings. 

The light was receding fast over the horizon and Peter went into overdrive.

His feet pushed him down through a park.

He stumbled even on the flat grass of the park. 

Before he could realize it, his body lost motion, falling face-forward next to a bench. Peter's arm reached for the support of the bench but fell short. His body hit the ground and Peter couldn't understand why he was fighting still. Worn boots jogged up to him, from under the bench's legs he watched the light tan stained with mud and lightly torn come closer. Everything was overly clear to Peter, those boots couldn't hide a thing from Peter. His eyes drooped, and his mouth quirked before falling again. His eyes closed for seconds before his body was tugged to lay on his back, eyes opening again.

"Fuck, dude. What the fuck happened to you? Oh shit, that's a lot of blood-!"

Peter hushed the potty mouth, his body too sleepy to engage.

"Oh hell no, your dying ass did not just shush me,  _fuck_ -! Come on, dude, open your eyes, don't-!"

Peter would have laughed if he could but his mind shut off for a deep sleep instead.

 


End file.
